


Never Again

by The_Jashinist



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blood and Gore, Dimension Travel, Drug Abuse, Elseworlds, F/F, F/M, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parallel Universes, Past Abuse, Past Drug Addiction, Thomas Wayne!Batman, headcanon appearances
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2018-05-30 00:18:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6399964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Jashinist/pseuds/The_Jashinist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An accident (courtesy of everyone's favorite Boy Wonder) lands a group of Batman's most infamous enemies (plus Robin and three kids) in a world where the Batman they knew never existed, and another, a more deadly one, has taken his place.  To make matters worse, whatever pushed them into this world may very well be impossible to recreate.  Meaning they all need to work together to survive first, and find a way back second.<br/>The former may be harder than the latter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Dick Grayson Royally Screws Up and Gets Everyone Tossed into another Dimension

Jon was in the middle of a very long stream of swears, most of which no one could actually understand through his accent.  Jack cracked his neck and propped himself up on his elbows.  Surely the blast had just knocked them into another warehouse, this couldn’t be the same one.

“Look I hate to be rude, but could you get off of me?” a voice asked.  Jack glanced down and found that he had landed on Batman’s annoying teenage sidekick.

“Oh look at that,” Jack dropped down and pulled himself into a bridge, “climb on out Birdboy.”

Robin scowled and slid out from under Jack, crossing his arms.  Jack stood from the bridge and took a quick look around.  Everyone seemed to be accounted for.  Jon, Ed, Jervis, Ivy, Harley, the little witch kid Jack never remembered the name of, Anarky (for some reason), Croc’s pint-sized girlfriend, and of course Croc (also swearing his head off, but with significantly less accent).  No Batman though, that was the only problem.

No Batman.

“Batman?”

Robin seemed to sense this too.  Jack turned his gaze up to the catwalk.

Those catwalks looks oddly familiar.  They were the same pattern as the ones in his warehouse, the one Batman had just broken into.  But at the same time it wasn’t, if felt wrong somehow.  It felt like something was there that didn’t belong there.

Like maybe everyone.

“Think he’s up in the catwalk J?” Ivy asked, standing.

“No,” Jack shook his head, “he’s not here.  Look up at the catwalk for a second.”  Ivy raised her eyebrows and glanced up.

“What about it?”

“This is my warehouse.”

Jon’s swearing stopped abruptly, and the witch boy floated past Jack to get a better look.

“He’s right,” he piped up, perching on one of the railings, “it doesn’t feel the same, but it’s the same building.  Feels like we’re on...another plane of existence.”

“If that’s a fancy way of saying we’re dead I’m gonna kill you Klarion,” Croc’s girlfriend snarled, pointing at the witch boy.

“No,” Klarion shook his head, “we’re alive, but we don’t belong here, in short.  Same place different universe, as a crash course.”

“That would’ve been funnier if Jon had kept swearing all the way through,” Jack commented with a grin.

“Bite me clown.”

“Go frighten an old lady straw man.”

“So how do we get back?” Robin asked, quickly getting to the point.

“Oh come on kid,” Jack shoved Robin’s shoulder, “have some fun.  No Batman!  No one to stop us from breaking every rule!”

“Glad you think so,” Klarion raised his eyebrows, “because I don’t actually know how to hop dimensions.”

“Aren’t you literally a magic expert?” Robin raised his voice.

“Yeah but I’m still like, thirteen,” Klarion floated down to the ground, “dimension hopping takes a lot of energy.  Just because we got here doesn’t mean we can get back immediately.”

Jack glanced at Robin and grinned.

“In that case,” Jack hummed, “I think we should take advantage of the sheer lack of Batman and have a little fun.”

“You don’t know that there’s no Batman,” Robin commented.

“Minor details,” Jack waved off the comment.

“It think that’s a pretty major detail!” Robin raised his voice.

“We don’t know where we are,” Jon stepped forward and placed a hand on Jack’s chest, “there might be a Batman, there might not, but if there is we don’t know if it’s the same one.”

“Guys?” Klarion spoke up.

“Well I’ve always been one to tempt fate,” Jack grinned, “I mean, I _am_ the Clown Prince of Crime.”

“Guys,” Klarion repeated a little louder, eyes locked on the catwalks.

“You’re a selfish brat is what you are,” Jon argued, “Did you even stop to ask anyone else what they thought?  Or maybe ask for advice before going and getting us all killed?”

“Guys!” Klarion almost yelled this time, “I’ve got an answer to that Batman mystery if anyone’s interested!”

“What’s that?” Jack looked around Jon at Klarion just as a bullet streaked by his head, just barely missing him.  Up on the catwalks was a huge, imposing man in a black cowl.

“Batman just shot at me,” Jack held a hand on his chest, insulted, “wait why does Batman have a gun?”

Another shot blazed past and Jack hid behind Jon.

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Jon grabbed Jack and began shoving him towards the door, then turned to the others, “Scatter!”

The group didn’t take long to obey this direction and everyone bolted into different directions.  Jack darted out the double doors and sprinted down until he reached Gotham Bay, nearly getting himself knocked off balance by Robin, who had decided to follow and had barreled straight into him.  Jack turned to the kid and shoved him into the bay before jumping in himself and hiding under the wooden docks.

“What was that for?” Robin snarled, resurfacing behind Jack.

“Sh,” Jack held one finger over Robin’s mouth.

“I’m gonna bite your finger off clown,” Robin growled.

“Shush,” Jack hissed urgently.  The Not-Batman approached the docks briefly, fired two shots into the water where Jack and Robin had just fallen in, and then walked away.  Jack waited for his footsteps to fade away before using the dock he was under to lift himself onto dry land.

“If any of this shrinks, you gotta pay for it,” Jack commented, glancing back at Robin as the boy climbed out of the water.  Robin didn’t reply and got to his feet.

“Why did he fire twice?” he asked, a seemingly pointless question.

“Because two people jumped in the water,” Jack replied, “I mean personally I would’ve unloaded the entire gun, but that’s just me.”

“But I’m not a criminal!” Robin argued.  Jack rolled his eyes and placed his hand on Robin’s head.

“Maybe Boy Wonder doesn’t exist in this alternate reality,” he shrugged, “maybe you’re a criminal.  Ooh, maybe this is a different person in the costume!”

Jack removed his hand and contemplated that last possibility for a moment.

“Who is Batman?” he asked aloud.

“Are you asking me or the universe?” Robin asked.

“Hush-hush,” Jack ordered. “I’m trying to figure this out.”

“Better plan,” Robin raised his voice, “find a place to hide so if this Batman comes back we have our lives.”

“Wow Boy Wonder you’re great at this planning thing!” Jack complimented.  Robin stared at Jack for a few minutes before following him.

“Do you know where to go?” he asked.

“Well I was thinking,” Jack turned and began running backwards, “if this Batman kills people, there must not be many people in Arkham.  Heck it might be abandoned!  So if that’s the case, it’s pretty unlikely that this universe’s Batman wouldn’t think to check in an abandoned insane asylum right?”

“I see your point,” Robin agreed.  Jack nodded and continued to run towards where he remembered Arkham to be, Robin in tow.


	2. In Which Robin Learns a Valuable Lesson about Insanity

“Do you always do that?” Robin asked, pulling off his cape to hang it up alongside most of Jack’s clothes.  He’d decided to keep his boxers on so as to not embarrass the small bird child too much.

“Do what?” Jack frowned, picking at the bright green polish on his nails.

“Turn on a dime!” Robin raised his voice, “One moment you’re being a total idiot and the next you have perfectly sound logic and reasoning.  It’s almost instantaneous.”

“You’re talking like I wasn’t the person who set up an elaborate deathtrap on Christmas with the express purpose of giving Batsy a pie.”

“You’re insane.  Does anyone know who you are?”

“I’m the Joker.”

“I meant your name, your real name.”

Jack paused and began inspecting his nails.  Robin narrowed his eyes.  The makeup on his face had begun to smear, and he could just barely notice a few dark freckles across his nose.

“So you do whiten your face!” Robin used the heel of his hand to wipe away a bit more of the makeup.  Jack quickly grabbed his wrist and shoved him back.

“No it’s like that,” he retorted, “I just cover my freckles.  They stand out too much.”

“And the smile?” Robin drew a smile across his cheeks.  Jack rolled his eyes and wiped away most of the red, revealing that it had been traced over actual scars.

“Can’t remember how I got them, but I like making up stories,” Jack ran his fingertips over one of the scars, “anything that might pull sympathy from some unsuspecting sucker.”

“You’ll get sympathy from just saying you don’t remember,” Robin pointed out.

“Yeah but ‘I can’t remember’ has so much less drama to it,” Jack grinned, “like how many times has the phrase ‘I forget’ started a dramatic moment on stage.”

“At the start of almost every story with an amnesiac,” Robin crossed his arms.

“You come to my house and spoil my fun.”

“Do you just forget everything from before you became a walking chemical disaster?”

“My name is Jack Napier, I’m 33 years old, and I’m legally dead,” Jack held up one hand, “chemicals burned off my fingerprints.  They also singed most of my hair so I can’t grow body hair, or a beard.  I’ve always wondered if the beard would grow in green.”

“Why am I alone with you?” Robin rubbed his temples.

“So what’s your precious secret name?” Jack rolled onto his stomach and grinned.

“What?” Robin backed up.

“Aw I told you my name and everything,” Jack pouted, “you gotta tell me yours.  It’s only fair.”

“What?  No!”

“Do you really think I’d tell anyone?  Even if I did tell one of the other Rogues, either they wouldn’t believe me or they wouldn’t care.  Honestly birdboy, we’re not all bad, we’re just...different.”

“You’re a mentally deranged murderer.”

“Have I tried to kill you?”

“It doesn’t matter you’re still a convicted murderer!”

“That doesn’t answer my question.  Have I tried to kill you?”

Robin paused and looked down at his feet, not responding.  Jack rolled his eyes.

“Have I tried to kill you?”

“No.”

“Have I done anything to harm you intentionally, since we got here?”

“No.”

“Do you recall what witch boy said?”

“Yes.”

“There may not BE a way back, so as long as we’re here, you need to trust me, possibly all of us.  Am I clear?”

Robin scowled, “What the hell are you?”

Jack grinned.

“I can promise I won’t kill you, but I’m not going to promise that you’re not going to have to deal with something much worse than pain or death.”

“What’s that?”

“A volatile personality.”

Jack laughed loudly and hopped to his feet, walking up to see if his clothes were dry.

“You’re insane.”

“Let me ask an important question: Do I make sense?”

“No.”

“That’s the point!” Jack began laughing hysterically.

Robin leaned on the wall and rubbed his temples, waiting for the laughter to stop.  When it did, Robin glanced up.  Jack had dressed himself and was busy fiddling with his sleeves, rolling them up to his elbows, so everyone could see the tattoos, various card suits and chess pieces.  These were about his neck and ankles too, little marks of black and red on his snow white skin.  It was...eerie.

“It’s Dick Grayson, by the way.”

“Oh the Wayne boy!” Jack cartwheeled over to stand in front of Robin, “Should’ve figured.  That would make Batsy Bruce Wayne right?”

“Yeah.”

“Hm, anticlimactic, interesting, but anticlimactic.  I mean no offense to Bats but I’m not too shocked.  Like if it were the commissioner or something I’d be shocked, but not so much Bruce.”

“You’ve kidnapped the commissioner.”

“That I have!  Good on you remembering such fun details!”

Robin rested his head in his hand.  He was starting to question his decision to follow this lunatic.  Not that he hadn’t already questioned it.

“So I’m assuming, of all the Rogues, the Joker is still around,” Jack began wiping the rest of his makeup off with his hand, “I dunno I kinda wanna see what I’m like in this universe.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” Robin lifted his head slightly.

“If you were the biggest, most powerful criminal in an entire city, would you have a fixed base of operations like I do?” Jack asked.

“If Batman was anything like the one in our universe?” Robin asked.

“Yes, because the Batman here has already proven to be so much like Bruce,” Jack raised his eyebrows and nodded slowly.

“It was just a question.”

“It was a fucking stupid question.”

“Well I suppose I’d move around every heist like Riddler does.”

“True,” Jack tapped a finger against his lips, “we’d need someone who works in his gang, or intel on where his next hideout is.  I’m not good at finding either.”

“Isn’t Poison Ivy a good sweet talker?” Robin suggested.

“Yeah but I don’t like her,” Jack rubbed the back of his neck, “you know Jon’s a pretty good talker, better at the intimidation thing but he’s still pretty good.  If we can find him we’ll be set!”

“Great!” Robin crossed his arms, “Where do you propose we start looking?”

“I-right,” Jack drew his lips into a line, “I mean we could probably find him pretty quick, just need to find the right bar to ask around.”

“Bar?”

“Well Jon does drink a lot.”

“We’re all gonna die.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be so dramatic Dick.


	3. In Which Not Much is Solved Because Batman

Jack had a talent for picking out the seediest places, Dick had to admit.  After shoplifting a few things from a Walmart he’d gotten Dick a semi-decent disguise, Jack had dragged him into an ugly, seedy little bar with “The Beehive” framed above it in bright pink neon.

“Ugh it smells like piss,” Jack crinkled his nose, “I’m willing to bet that’s what’s in the whiskey here.”  Jack shoved his way through the bar, walking over a table of surly thugs and approaching the barkeep.  Dick followed behind as best he could, trying very hard not to start a fight.

“We don’t serve Kids,” the barkeep snapped.

“I’m not a kid,” Jack raised an eyebrow, “I’m in my thirties.”

“Not from around here are you?” the barkeep asked, “Kid, it’s what people around here call henchmen of the Joker.”

“I’m not that either,” Jack hopped up on a barstool, “but I am looking for a friend.  I was wondering if you’d seen him.”

“We serve almost everyone,” the barkeep shrugged, “what’s this friend look like?”

“Tall, thin as a rail, dark hair,” Jack fluffed the longer section of his hair, “it’s full, like this.”

“Does he have blue eyes?” the barkeep leaned on the bar, “Like they’re readin’ you like a book?”

“They are,” Jack nodded, “very striking eyes; I’m rather fond of them.  So you’ve seen him?”

“Came by, had a few drinks, paid, then left,” the barkeep shrugged, “asked me a few questions about the city, places to stay where _he_ wouldn’t sniff around.  I pointed him down to one of Joker’s old funhouses, a warehouse two blocks that way.  Say, if you ain’t a Kid, why are you dressed like that?”

“I like it,” Joker hopped off the stool, “one more question.  Was anyone with him?”

“A weird short fellow and a man in a green suit.”

“Great, thanks.”

Jack turned on his heels and began to walk out.

“You got the cash to pay for that?” the barkeep called, one of the patrons stood and blocked the door.

“What?” Jack furrowed his brow.

“I gave you information,” the barkeep replied, “don’t know how it works where you’re from, but that stuff isn’t free here in Gotham.”

Jack scowled and dug a few bills out of his pocket, still slightly damp.

“Go for a swim Kid?” a patron sneered.  Jack shot a glare at the man but place the bills on the counter.

“Info costs more than a few hundreds,” the barkeep commented.

“That info costs you four hundred,” Jack snapped, “tops.”

“Maybe at a whore house,” the barkeep snarled, “which you’ll be in if you don’t add in another two hundred.”

Jack set his lips into a line and pulled out two more bills.

“So you’re loaded,” the barkeep smirked.

“No,” Jack leaned on the barkeep, “put two and two together buddy.  Stranger comes in, dressed like a Kid but isn’t, looking for some other odd strangers, has at least six hundred dollars on him.  Gee, I wonder how that kind of person got so _rich_.”

Jack flicked out a throwing knife and buried it in the barkeep’s hand.  The barkeep yowled and in that moment, Jack took three of the bills and stuffed them back into his pocket.

“I’ve killed way more dignified and _trained_ sons of bitches than this entire bar and I’m not afraid to turn you all into corpse art, murdering vigilante or not.  You give me the intel for three hundred, or I slit your pretty throat.  Got it?”

The barkeep whimpered and nodded.  Jack smirked and pulled the knife out of the barkeep’s hand.

“You know if minor scare tactics freak you out, this Joker must be a real wuss,” Jack teased, walking out with Dick in tow, twirling the throwing knife in one hand, “that tall kid I asked about could probably talk you all into giving him intel for free.  Be lucky I’m not like him.”

Jack slammed the door shut behind them and sighed.

“I just blew three hundred bucks on a liar,” he groaned, “also, take it from me, if you’re faced with false intel, don’t say anything about it being false.  Pretend they’re telling the truth, but try to get a discount.”

“Why do you have over six hundred dollars on you?” Dick asked.

“Because bank accounts are for squares.”

“You could’ve paid for my clothes!”

“Look, the money I have is from another timeline.  When it’s black market cash there’s no issue in messing with a bit of inflation, but we’re not supposed to be here.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” a voice commented from above.  Jack froze and glanced up, to where Not-Batman was standing, arms crossed and looking very angry.

“Hello,” Jack waved slightly, looking somewhat sheepish.

“What were you doing in that warehouse?”

“Yeah you never were much of a talker,” Jack muttered under his breath, “look, we’re just lost.  You were the one who shot at us almost immediately.”

“You were trespassing.”

“You say that like you weren’t trespassing, and I wasn’t aware the penalty for trespassing was death, especially for four children.”  Jack snorted and looked at Dick, “For four, get it?”

“Jack we need to be serious,” Dick reminded the criminal.

“Right,” Jack turned back to Not-Batman, “we’re only looking for some friends.  I know a few things about black market intel, not like I do anything illegal with it.”

“What’s your name?”

“Jack,” Jack shrank back slightly.

“Could you explain why there’s blood on that knife of yours?”

“Hey I didn’t kill anyone with this knife (recently).  I was just getting stiffed and figured I’d do a little bartering.”

“Who do you work for?”

“No one.”

“Then why would you be negotiating prices?”

Not-Batman held a gun against Jack’s forehead.

“He’s threatening to shoot me!” Jack got insulted again.

“You’re never going to get over that are you?” Dick asked.

“Nope.”

“Why are you negotiating the price of information?” Not-Batman repeated.

“Because the information was false,” Dick blurted out quickly, “we didn’t want to start too big of a fight by claiming it so we just tried to lower the price.  We’re just looking for a friend, we’ll leave as soon as we find him, honest.”  Jack shot Dick a quick glance before nodding quickly.

“What’s this friend look like?” Not-Batman lowered his weapon slightly, still training it on Jack.

“What?  Planning on killing him?” Jack scowled, standing up straight.

“Was he the one you used as a shield?”

Jack paused and glanced at Dick briefly.

“Possibly.”

There was a loud explosion off in the distance, drawing Not-Batman’s attention long enough for Jack to grab Dick’s hand and start running.  They’d made it a few feet before gunshots began sounding from behind.  A jolt of pain shot through Jack’s leg and he slammed into the ground, hard, dragging poor Dick with him.

“FUCK ME!” Jack spat, stumbling to his feet, wincing at the pain in his leg, “SON OF A BITCH!”

“What was that about?” Dick raised his voice.  Jack began to reply but only screamed as another bullet ripped through his torso.  Dick wasted no time catching Jack and, with some trouble, as Jack was taller and heavier, carrying him up a fire escape.

“Are they still there?” Dick asked.

“Nope,” Jack flinched, holding a hand over the bleeding bullet wound, “went straight through.  Fuck.  Okay, new plan, we need to find Ivy.”

“I thought you hated her.”

“Yeah but I know she has more than one of these.”  Jack took a plastic bag out of his pocket with a single bright green plastic thing in it.

“We’re plugging up a bullet wound.”

“Fun history fact, these were once used to plug up bullet wounds.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a tampon.”

“Oh.  Why isn’t it in its wrapper?”

“Because, now where would we find Ivy?”

“Is that mine?” a familiar voice behind them asked.  Jack flipped his head upside down.

“Hi Red!” he yelled at the top of his lungs.

“Is that mine?”

“Yeah Harley doesn’t use ‘em.”

“Did you get shot?”

“Yes. Yes I did, twice.”

Dick turned around too look at the speaker, who was standing at a rooftop door scowling at Jack.

“You’re sitting ducks on the roof,” she commented, “get inside before Not-Bat fills Jack with more holes.”

“Great!” Jack threw his arms in the air, “Who’s with you?”

“The bird.”

“EVEN BETTER!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahaha get rekt jack


	4. In Which an Impostor Appears

“You’re a freak of nature Jack,” Ivy grumbled, wrapping gauze around Jack’s leg, “how many times have you been shot in this year alone?”

“I think I’m nearing fifty,” Jack replied, “not including my own bullets.”

“Naturally,” Ivy leaned back, “there, you’re not dying, yet.”

“That yet makes me slightly concerned,” Jack edged away from Ivy.

“I wonder why,” Ivy snarled, standing and beginning to leave.

“What’s your damage?” Jack asked before Ivy could leave.

“You know what it is,” Ivy snapped, slamming the door in his face.

“Wow, spectacular, truly.”

Jack glanced up to where Jon had been watching, perched up in the rafters like a smug-ass bird.

Because Jon was a smug-ass bird.

“Are you trying to piss me off?” Jack asked.

“I can start talking in internet memes if you want,” Jon grinned.

“Jonathan Crane you are a six foot tall, thirty-two year old doctor of psychology.”

“Jack you’re dressed like a video game character, and you’re older than me.”

“I AM a video game character.”

Jon smirked and hopped down from the rafters.  Jack raised his eyebrows, finding that Jon had procured street clothes, that is to say, was standing in front of him in a hoodie and jeans looking about as average as his ridiculous, gangly proportions would allow.

“Where’d the assortment of burlap sacks passing for a costume go?” Jack asked.

“Save for the gas mask and weapons I burned it,” Jon shrugged, “I’ve heard freaks in costumes don’t fare too well in this Gotham.”

“Was that a jab at my suit?” Jack narrowed his eyes.  Jon smirked and tugged off Jack’s tie.

“I thought you wore a green tie with a yellow shirt,” Jon commented.

“I can’t mix things up?” Jack snatched the yellow string tie from Jon and began retying it, “Honestly, you have no room to criticize my fashion choices when you wear cartoon print boxers.”

“Jack there’s such a thing as an inner child,” Jon rolled his eyes, “unlike you, I can actually keep it hidden rather well.”

“You have worn nothing but boxers for 72 hours Jon,” Jack pointed out, “I remember that very distinctly because I could never finish a fucking sentence whenever you walked into the room.”

“How do you remember me without clothes on more than the time you thought a Bible was a good April Fool’s Day gift?” Jon asked.

“I liked looking at you without clothes on,” Jack shrugged, “I didn’t really like getting thrown out a window.  Though, in all honestly, I gotta say I may only remember that 72 hours so vividly because I went 72 hours without fucking you.”

“Jack it’s been what?  A year since I broke up with you?”

“Admit it, you still like me.”

“No I don’t!”

“Oh come on!  Think of all the nice memories!”

“I’m thinking back and all I can recall is sex so I think we’ve allocated the first major problem with that trainwreck you’re still not over.”

"So you admit it was good sex then?"

"Don't get off-track!"

“How is that off-track?  It’s still about our relationship and you just admitted that the sex was good!”

“Yeah, you also nearly killed me more than ten times!”

“Jon you shoved me out a window.”

“You gave me a Bible as a _joke_.”

“I thought it was funny, and I gave you nice stuff.”

“You gave me a demonic tabby cat that only likes you.”

“I still gave you a cat.  I even adopted it!  Can we get back to you admitting I’m good in bed?  I like hearing compliments about myself.”

Jon opened his mouth to reply, but quickly shut it when Dick walked into the room.  Jack flashed a wide smile and waved at the young boy who wordlessly walked over and opened a nearby window, where a familiar little voice, singing a sickeningly cheery song, drifted in.  Jack grinned wide and started for the window before Jon and Dick quickly grabbed him and dragged him back.

“We have no idea who is alive and who’s dead,” Jon pointed out, “even if a voice sounds familiar, we can’t trust it.”

“Come on Jon it’s _Harley_ ,” Jack wriggled out of Jon’s grip, “she’s the sweetest kid I’ve ever met!  She wouldn’t hurt anyone!”

“Jack no she...” Jon began, but then pulled a face.

“What?” Dick asked.

“She wouldn’t hurt anyone,” Jon lowered his voice so Jack could hear but to make it clear he was addressing Dick.

“Don’t you already know Jack is insane though?”

“Insane not stupid.”

“I can hear you,” Jack raised his voice.

“Oh, I know,” Jon replied.  Jack scowled and headed for the open window.

“Wait what if it’s someone else?” Dick spoke up, but Jack was far beyond listening.  He leaned out the window, gripping the sill to steady himself.  He didn’t see anyone up there, and was about to return inside when a cord, attached to a bright yellow weight, dropped down from the roof of the building and wrapped itself around Jack’s neck twice.

“Gotcha.”

Jack felt himself get yanked from the window as the cord tightened around his neck, closing off any access to air.  He was yanked up onto the roof with enough speed to nearly break his neck, nearly.  The attacker seemed more interested in strangling Jack than giving him a painless death.

“Come on beanpole, I need you and the brat too,” a voice muttered.  Jack gaped, searching for enough air to scream, something to keep Jon inside, but the cord was doing a terrific job of cutting off his breathing.  His lungs were burning and Jack could feel the air already in him pushing against his chest.  His vision was getting fuzzy and spotty; he wasn’t going to stay conscious much longer.

Finally, as if noticing Jack’s distress, the attacker pulled Jack onto the roof and removed the cord.  Jack gasped and coughed, rubbing at the spot where the cord had been digging into his neck.

“Aw, you’re kinda cute,” the voice teased, “I feel kinda bad nearly killin’ ya.”

Jack coughed and turned towards his attacker, stumbling to his feet.  She looked like Harley, and sounded like Harley, but one glance told him all he needed to know.  It wasn’t _his_ Harley.

“Aw now don’t get mad honey,” the imposter smiled, “it’s nothin’ personal.  My boss just doesn’t like you runnin’ around her town lookin’ like her and not workin’ for her.  We nabbed a couple a’ guys like ya just yesterday.”

“How,” Jack spat on the ground, feeling a certain familiar fury rise in his chest, “how did you know I’d react to that voice?”

The imposter grinned, glancing down the side of the building, then back at Jack, swinging the yellow ended cord in circles.

“I honestly didn’t, I was expectin’ ya to try n’ run when you realized someone was up here,” she skipped towards Jack, “did I remind ya of someone?”

The imposter swung the cord out and smacked Jack upside the head with the yellow weight, knocking him onto the ground.

“It really isn’t anythin’ personal,” she walked over and dug her heel into Jack’s shoulder, “but you know, orders are orders and all that.”

Jack felt a sharp pain flare in the back of his neck, and everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -nearly kills Joker-
> 
> Naaaaaah jk kiddos he ain't gonna die yet.

**Author's Note:**

> Quick notes to keep in mind after each chapter of this:
> 
> 1\. I'm going to hell, I am the queen of the trash.
> 
> 2\. This is slightly based on the Flashpoint Paradox, at least Batman's backstory in the alternate universe is. The Europe stuff never happened though, because no, they have enough to deal with without having to deal with that, no Armageddon, no.
> 
> 3\. Dear writers of Flashpoint Paradox: FUCK YOU. (I have a lot of feelings okay?)
> 
> 4\. Jack is Joker, Jack is Joker, this is primarily in Joker's POV so JACK IS JOKER.


End file.
